I lie in the dark and twist my mother’s ring around my finger as I think. It’s late—4 a.m.
I haven’t heard from Elliot; I thought he would have messaged me, if only to give me a mouthful. And after sitting at my computer for an hour when I got home, Edgar hasn’t answered my message either.
Which leads me to believe one thing: Elliot did in fact go back upstairs and fuck a model.
Just like I told him to . . . I throw the back of my arm over my face in disgust.
Ugh, you idiot.
Why did I say that?
I keep going over and over the way he kissed me, the way his broad shoulders felt under my hands.
And can we just take a minute to appreciate that humungous hard dick in his pants?
It’s ridiculous, nobody can be that blessed.
He’s like a porn star or something, or maybe it’s just been a really long time for me and I’ve forgotten what erections feel like.
Hot and smooth, thick veins . . . hmmm.
A deep ache thumps in between my legs, my body pissed that I didn’t deliver the goods.
Hell, I’m pissed.
A good fucking would have been just what I needed tonight, but the reality is a different story. I have my period.
And if I ever did fall into bed with the elusive Elliot Miles, he’s going to have to work a lot harder than that . . . even if I am just a horizontal crush.
I mean, I don’t want anything more than that anyway, but I’m not easy.
Especially not for domineering assholes who kiss like the devil.
My inner ho reappears and I wonder what it would be like to be underneath him . . .
Stop it.
I roll onto my side and nestle in, trying to find a comfortable position.
Just go to sleep.
I feel his breath on my neck and his teeth on my ear and I smile into the darkness.
For the first time in years, I feel alive.
Monday morning, I walk into the Miles Media building like a rock star.
Wearing a tight black dress and my hair in a high ponytail, I’m ready to take on the world.
I’m over my confidence crisis now. It doesn’t matter if Elliot did fuck a model.
He’s nothing to me.
Nope, nope, nope. I am not falling for his little seduction . . . Well, I now know it’s not so little, but whatever.
And Edgar is in the shit too, where has that asshole been all weekend?
He’s got no excuse not to reply to my messages, I’m just his platonic penpal friend.
Anyway, poof to men.
They all suck.
I arrive at my desk, and half an hour later I glance up through the glass wall to see Elliot standing at one of the desks talking to someone. He’s wearing his navy suit, a white shirt, and he looks even more orgasmic today if that’s humanly possible. I snap my gaze away.
Okay.
He’s coming.
I sit up and rearrange my boobs in my bra. I’m ready for you, big boy . . . bring it.
For ten minutes I pretend to look at my computer screen.
What’s he doing?
I keep my head to the front but I move my eyes in his direction. Stalker style.
He’s talking and laughing with two girls.
What’s so funny, asshole, and since when do you chat with people?
I raise my eyebrows. Ugh . . . typical.
I keep pretending to work, and then he walks past my office as he talks to Henry.
Here he comes.
He casually knocks on my window as a greeting and keeps walking, totally unfazed. He keeps chatting and they both get into the elevator, and disappear out of sight.
I stare at the closed doors and blink.
What?
A knock.
That’s it?
That’s not what he was supposed to do.
He was supposed to march in here and get all caveman and demand I have sex with him on this desk right now . . . and I just may have worn sexy panties by chance to rise to the occasion.
My blood boils . . . now he’s going to pretend that nothing happened.
He wants to make me sweat . . . well, I’m not!
Typical Elliot fucking Miles style.
Screw you, asshole.
Jeez, maybe nothing did happen and I was just high on his aftershave. I mean, it’s totally possible; he does smell really good.
“What do you mean he said nothing?” Rebecca huffs as we walk along.
“Just what I said, nothing. Not one word,” I reply.
Daniel powers up in front and he turns back toward us. “Hurry up, this is supposed to be exercise.”
Beck and I walk as fast as we can across the road to try and catch up.
“You know, if I’m going to walk with you girls, you have to step it up. I want to elevate my heart rate,” he says.
“What’s stopping you?” I roll my eyes. “Off you go then.”
“Then what?” Beck continues.